


Christmas Baking

by lkaet



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Christmas, Drabble, Fluff and Crack, Gift Fic, M/M, Smutlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 00:32:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lkaet/pseuds/lkaet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock both get into the Christmas spirit.  Sherlock does a little bit of baking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Baking

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short and sweet little Christmas fic I wrote for the Sherlock Secret Santa over on Tumblr. My secret Santa gift is for nerdy-is-the-new-sexy. Gah, I hope you like it!!

The weather outside was the icy sort of weather, where the wind pricked at your exposed skin and caused your nose to become an unhealthy pinkish hue the longer you spent outside in it. The winter chill had finally settled into London properly and even the tiniest snowflakes had begun to fall. Auras of light surrounded the street lamps and everything fairly glittered with it. People on the street were in a rush to head home for the night and commuters and taxis drivers were hoping to stave off too much snow lest they be stranded for very much longer in the city centre. 

John Watson was not about to let the weather bother him though. He was the sort of man who lived for Christmastime and all that it brought along with it. Mulled wine and carols and Christmas baking were all things that made December perfect. As soon as the snow had started to fall, he was in an unflinchingly good mood, one that couldn’t be tampered by Sherlock and his habit of criticizing every Christmas tradition that John loved.

John had left Baker Street earlier that afternoon to do some Christmas shopping and couldn’t help the extra spring in his step. His arms were full with presents and he was on his way home to the warmth of the fireplace and hopefully a quiet evening in with Sherlock. They had been busy with cases all week, and he was ready to relax for a few days before the inevitable bustle of parties and get together around Christmas began in earnest.

The first thing he noticed when he opened the door to 221B was the smell. Normally, as you walked into Baker Street any number of noxious fumes was likely to spill out, but today John caught the unmistakable aroma of Shortbread. Freshly baked, which was more perplexing than any of the bizarre experiments Sherlock was likely to be doing at any given time. Even more perplexing was Mrs. Hudson`s absence. John could have understood fresh baking if perhaps Mrs. Hudson was around, but he glanced at her door to double check, and sure enough, her light was off, as she supposed to be visiting family over the holidays. Bracing himself for whatever he was to find inside, John adjusted the boxes and bags on his hip, and opened the door to the flat. 

Once inside, John simply stared. 

Every conceivable surface was covered in a multitude of shortbread. There were trays of biscuits on the chairs and the tables, on the mantle of the fireplace. They were stacked up precariously and some looked on the verge of toppling over like the most delicious game of Jenga. 

Well that explained the smell.

“Oh. John. You’re home early? Why are you home early?” Sherlock emerged from the kitchen with his shirtsleeves rolled up his forearms, mixing bowl held in the crook of one elbow and flour from the top of his curls to his feet. 

“I’m not early Sherlock; I’ve been out all day. I said I’d be home around six.” John said slowly, trying to process exactly what his eyes were seeing. “You’ve been baking.” 

“Ahh, so it is six…how time flies when your experiments are successful.” Sherlock shook his head vigorously sending a puff of flour into the air and smiled wide at John. “Well, since it would be impossible to make it a surprise now, I suppose I shall have to give you your Christmas present early.”

Sherlock swept his hand not holding the bowl towards the piles of biscuits everywhere. 

“Sherlock, there must be a thousand shortbread here. What-“

“It started off simply enough. I wanted to get you something for Christmas and Mrs. Hudson suggested that making something might be more personal and meaningful. I know how much you favour homemade baked goods at Christmastime, and shortbread reminds you of Christmases when you were a boy. You are very sentimental John. Thus, I decided I would make you some Shortbread.” Sherlock set the bowl down on the table beside him and attempted to brush some of the flour off of his front, succeeding in only spreading it further.

“Sherlock, really? You did this for me?” John set down all the bags and boxes he was carrying and came all the way into the room. “I just…why are there so many?”

“John, do you realize how many recipes there are online? I began my search for the best shortbread, and there were hundreds of thousands of people suggesting that their recipe was the best or prizewinning or “just like mum used to make”. I was not about to leave my choice up to chance. I picked a selection of the most popular recipes and decided to make them all. I tested for flavour, quality, price of ingredients, nutrition and many other factors. I wanted to make sure that the ones I gave you were the absolute best.” 

“Right, from you, that makes perfect sense. It’s really wonderful Sherlock. Thank you.” 

Still a bit bewildered, flattered and his good mood multiplied by about a million, John crowded into Sherlock’s space and threw his arms around the taller man’s neck pulling him into a floury hug. Sherlock stood stiff as though he was not expecting and didn’t know how to respond. John pulled back from where his face was resting in the crook of Sherlock’s neck, to look at his face. 

Sherlock looked nervous and John just smiled back.

“Only you could turn cookies and Christmas presents into a great big experiment.” 

“Is that alright? I’m not-I’ve never really done this before.” Sherlock’s hands tightened around John’s shoulders. 

“Honestly it’s perfect. Today has been perfect and this; this is definitely the best part. No one had ever baked me a room full of biscuits before.” John couldn’t stop himself from smiling. His ridiculous flatmate who claimed not to care, and who seemed so mysterious most of the time, had spent all day baking for John. The thought made his heart ache in his chest. Despite everything, John thought that they were maybe, probably, perfect for each other. Both imperfect enough to fit together just right, and wasn’t that an equally terrifying and brilliant thought. It seemed as though Christmastime had brought them to some sort of crux. The mood had shifted and John said quietly,

“I’m afraid I am going to make you wait till Christmas morning for your present. I’m a bit of a traditionalist in that regards. I might let you take a few tries at deducing it though, if you wanted.” John stepped back just a fraction and slipped his hands from around Sherlock’s neck, down to his bare forearms. At that Sherlock smiled at John, his lips quirking just a fraction. 

“That would be lovely John.” Sherlock voice had gone low and warm and before John had knew what was happening, Sherlock had ducked his head and fitted his lips against Johns. 

It was unexpected. Soft and questioning, and it sent tingles down Johns spine. Sherlock’s lips were warm and tasted like sugar and John couldn’t resist sliding his hands back up along Sherlock’s arms to grip the material at his biceps and then up again around his neck and his tongue swept a trail into the heat of Sherlock’s mouth. 

It was dark in the room where John and Sherlock stood together now, only the light spilling in through the doors from the kitchen casting their shadows on the floor. 

They broke their kiss and John leaned forward and rested his head against Sherlock’s chest, breathing deeply as Sherlock’s arms came round to circle John’s back, holding him tightly. 

“We are going to have to clean this up at some point though.” John murmured into Sherlock’s shirt, only now realizing he hadn’t yet seen the potential carnage in the kitchen. 

“There’s plenty of time for that later.” Sherlock replied, nosing at the sensitive skin of John’s ear, derailing any other errant thoughts of tidying. 

“Oh hell, come on then.” And with that John grabbed Sherlock by the hands, and led him towards the bedroom, where they would not emerge until much later, when a break for some Shortbread and tea had become a necessity. 

 

The End


End file.
